Alone again, but not really.

Lessons from June

I did it on purpose. In hindsight, maybe it was foolish to front-load the summer with travel. I spent only nine days at home all month, beginning June with a four-day trip to Disneyland with my daughters, regrouping, and then traveling to Ohio with my best friend from college to sing a choral work composed by our favorite college professor. After a 12-hour delay, I returned home for 24 hours to unpack, repack, and then hit the road for a ten-day Midwest road trip, caravanning five hours at a time with my parents in tow. (Yes, it’s true; I officially leveled up by assuming the position of Lead Car in our pilgrimage across Nebraska). In a span of 26 days, I found myself living out of suitcases in seven states, five hotels, and four different time zones.

Just me and my ADHD soulmate

I’ve been back home for one week, and I’m not exactly my best self at the moment. But I’m so glad I did it this way, despite the bewilderment of reentry.

I lamented to my mother that I felt unmoored and morose upon my return last weekend. I tried to explain how I was feeling and we both came up with the word at the same moment. “Adrift,” we said in unison. And god, I did feel adrift. I’d spent an entire month escaping reality in vacation mode, spending nights in hotel rooms with my best friend, days in hotel swimming pools with my girls, and evenings in the South Dakota humidity with my parents. I was never alone, but in the good, supported kind of way that a single, solo mom rarely gets. I was surrounded by love and support. I was no longer the only one in my boat. And while I was eager to finally unpack my cosmetic bag, sleep on my own pillow, brew my own lattes, and unwind in my favorite backyard hammock chair, I was terribly worried about the loneliness waiting for me back “home.”

***

It was actually the perfect time for a break. A series of painful transitions left me reeling, as though the ground beneath me was constantly shifting. I couldn’t find my footing; I grasped at vines that weren’t there anymore. I needed a hard reset. While I don’t generally recommend running away from one’s problems, in this case, it worked quite nicely. Disneyland has always been my escape hatch of choice, and returning there two years after our last (explosive, life-changing) trip was healing for me. With all the back and forth, there really was no opportunity for me to delve into the big question that loomed overhead as though written in neon outside my bedroom window:

What next?

I didn’t know. I still don’t. But as the clock ran down on my Departure from Reality, I couldn’t escape the fact that it was almost time to go back home. Back to being the sole parent and grocery shopper and bill payer and planner and life architect. The fact that I am self-employed amidst my typical “slow season” suddenly felt like a huge vulnerability. What am I doing? Should I just get a “real job” like the cruel voice in my head so often taunts me? Who do I think I am?

My worry list rattled around in my head upon my return, and that first night back “home,” I felt quite homesick. But the worst kind of homesickness is when you aren’t really sure what you’re homesick for. Yourself? Your childhood? Feeling loved? Having a partner who’s got you? Not being afraid? Adrift. I felt adrift.

I distracted myself the day after we returned with two back-to-back comedy shows—another potentially ill-advised idea that turned out to be comforting and affirming—going through the motions with a “fake it til you make it” mindset. As I shared an early dinner between shows with a friend, she said the words I hadn’t known I needed to hear. I told her I sometimes felt apologetic and ashamed of my cobbled-together career, a classic trademark of the ADHD multi-creative midlife woman. With both fierceness and gentleness, she reminded me that most people aren’t like us, but that there is a place of us in this world, that our work matters. My entire body relaxed into the comfort of being seen.

Hosting boozy brunch at my favorite venue for the Boulder Comedy Festival

The following day, as I shrugged off my lengthy work to-do list and our half-unpacked suitcases, I was gifted with one of my favorite life experiences—one of those chance encounters when you make best friends with a stranger because you both happen to be waiting in line at T-Mobile.

She was a beautiful Native woman in her 60s, the mother of a son in his thirties. She told me about her nephew—born to her sister when she was a young teenager—and how he was essentially raised by four women in her family, including her. “Strong women,” she commented. “We can do anything.”

I told her about my oldest daughter and how she had written her college essay around the archetype of The Empress, weaving in themes of the wild aunties who helped raise her. A silent understanding passed between us—I was receiving the medicine I needed, in a slow drip that continued for days.

I said goodbye to the woman and left to bring iced coffee to a friend who was moving. The barista recognized me from the grocery store where he formerly worked, and we struck up a conversation about the beauty of these everyday exchanges, the impact of the kindness of strangers. A quiet voice whispered inside my head—remember who you are. You do not need to be worried about loneliness.

I followed the breadcrumbs of these tender interactions to the home of my close friend. Hours later, four of us—three of whom had been perfect strangers until that night—shared takeout food and 2 Chicks cocktails on the stoop and laughed and cried. I zoomed out and recognized it as one of those mountaintop experiences—four sweaty women linked only by one shared friend, coming together to solve problems and carry boxes. My own daughters had joined us to help sort and pack, and they lingered as we spoke, eavesdropping on the conversation of brand new friends.

“This is what women do,” I told them firmly on the way home. “Do you know how important this was, how special it was that you were part of this? This is what it looks like when women show up for each other.”

I did not set out in this life to raise daughters who, through their own life experiences, so deeply understood the importance of women banding together during crisis. I never intended for them to be guided by the lighthouse of determined single mothers. Parents never dream of adversity for their children, but in this case, it’s resulted in empathic young women who do not take stability for granted. One of our core family values is women taking care of women. We know all too well that the world will not step up to help much of the time.

“Four chicks forever,” we’d proclaimed on the porch steps that night, clinking our plastic cups together as we said goodbye, tired and dirty and feeling accomplished. How was it possible that less than 48 hours earlier, I’d been dreading feeling lonely? In a moment of myopic anxiety, I had forgotten that I will always find a way to build or find community.

***

Lately I’ve been thinking there must be a better way to live. As I sat on the stoop sharing stories with my two brand new friends, we marvelled over how much we were able to accomplish together in just a few hours. “We should start a business to help women through transitions. Send a crew of four chicks over to help clean, pack, organize, watch children, make calls, schedule appointments.” What else could we accomplish if the systems under which we live didn’t actively work against our independence?

I fantasize sometimes about a village of tiny homes for single women. So many of us long for community and shared space, but who really wants to have a roommate at this stage of life? What if we could afford to live in a home by ourselves without the overwhelm of a property too large and expensive? What if we returned to our roots, to the village? Anthropologically, we were never wired to live this way. I imagine how many women might leave unhappy or unsafe living situations if only there was a community to support them, tools and resources in place to empower them. Women like me who make too much money to qualify for food stamps but not enough to be able to exhale with confidence after taking their kids on a vacation.

We need one of the billionaire ex-wives to fund these ideas, you guys.

Photo by Alexandra Tran on Unsplash

I’ve settled back into life, made my to-do lists and started preparing for the next round of workshops and shows, revisiting my spreadsheet of literary agents to query to get my book published, reading submissions for Redacted. I do not have stability in the traditional sense—my income and projects and relationships ebb and flow as I navigate this season of my life.

I find myself feeling alternately powerful and crazy, daunted and then petulant, fiercely determined, then broken down with exhaustion. It’s scary; it makes me question myself; I don’t know any other way to live.

In my best moments, I remember that even when my close friends are out out of town and my parents are ten hours away and my daughter is back at college, I am not an island. I cast a net with my words, into this space where I get to connect with all of you. I’m not certain how I will make my mark in this world, which dreams or choices will sustain me and give me the security I crave. But I know that one of my superpowers is friendship and community. I do not take it for granted, even when I temporarily forget that the lifesaving medicine of connection is just one chance encounter away.

XO,
Steph

What’s up this summer:

• Join me for one last summer writing circle tomorrow (Tuesday 7/8) at 7 pm MST/9 pm EST. We’ll free-write to prompts and meditate and share and get back in touch with our wild, powerful selves. More info here.

• Divorced women! We begin a 4-week session of Writing Divorce this week. This workshop is for writers of all levels, and includes readings, prompts, writing exercises, and discussion. I don’t want finances to be an obstacle for any woman, so please use the “pay what you can option” if needed here.

• One more for the divorced ladies: Make sure you’re subscribed to Redacted: What Divorced Women Aren’t Telling You to stay up to date on weekly anonymous essays. Paid subscribers can participate in the community chat—our first one is coming next week!